


A Yen

by Itachi_S_Lucius



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alpha Uchiha Madara, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Harem, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blood and Gore, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied Mpreg, Japanese Culture, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Uzumaki Naruto, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itachi_S_Lucius/pseuds/Itachi_S_Lucius
Summary: To escape, remake, and find a happiness suited unto all. Was that not the crafted duty of an Omega?
Relationships: Uchiha Madara/Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	A Yen

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired by 'The Emperor Of Konoha' which is a fantastic SasuNaru. Mine is quite different I'm afraid, I have tried to develop historical context; both real and fictional into the story so for those of you who know and understand Japanese history and folklore this may seem very inaccurate. I may have also put in several Chinese traditions and/or beliefs into it unintentionally.

The wooden floors pressed painful against my feet, as the harsh surface felt to be rubbing into my bone, crushing ever further my curled toes with each movement. I could feel my eyes take to watering in protest yet, through pure will, I manage to turn my gaze to roam over from the fan I grasp and unto the onlookers afore me. Several gentry Alpha's sitting in silence and watching my dance with a firmly placed stoicism I cannot fathom to be anything but scornful, I know many of them by name, by interaction amongst the streets, all my fellows within this small town we live within; I do not wish to marry any of them. My guardian would be most angered however if I did not showcase the most of my skill in dance, if I purposefully tread on my feet, if I dropped my delicate fan; in a bid to escape potential marriage proposals. She did wish so fiercely to be rid of me after all.

I finish with a strained bow, though I am more surprised at my ability to stay upright then my clumsy attempt to appear a graceful virgin, I am always unstable in some manner. I dip my head into the waiting area, where all other Omega's such as myself await their tremendous dance moment, many far more nerve-wrecked then I. All of us having been told that this presentation would be the most significant of our lowly lives; to dance, to find an approving husband -or indeed in higher class circumstances, to be found as a suitable concubine for a clan head. My nose scrunches in distaste at the thought, the greenery to be seen in the gardens just at my side, already tempting me with the potential for freedom from this dismal town, unfortunately I cannot escape quickly or unseen as it stands. I kneel on the plush cushion nearest the porch doors which I have already claimed my own, my knees grateful for the soft comfort, and I may have let slip a great sigh of contentment at the feel -oops- many of my own look to me in scorn at the sound or appear to frightened to do or say anything of my uncivil behaviour.

In turn, I untuck my foot from under me and rip away the condemning shoe, tossing it aside, and do the same with the other so that I sit stretched as a street wretch would be -no dignity- with my feet on the wooden floor rather the the cushion below me, and so my right thigh can be slightly visible, peeking from beneath my tightly wrapped homongi, the shock upon their faces is well worth the scolding I will receive later. Though, I am making fun of them for their own dour natures, I do feel a pity for them as well. I understand where they do not; this ceremony is not to find a husband to love and cherish thee, it is for the Alpha surrounding to find a suitable bride to bare young and carry on their line, noble or not.

I had worked myself as a child within the homes of several Alpha in the area and I have seen their wives: I have seen them starved for tripping in front of a guest of importance, beaten for speaking in defense, raped for baring an Omega child. I have witnessed a woman been killed for attempting to poison her husband, when it had been me to set the toxic remedy into his food. It was all galling to watch, to acknowledge, and I hope from all the mercy within me that my fellow Omega's surrounding should escape such a bitter fate. I turn my head away from their patronizing stares as the memories return to me, for whilst I know how plausible their future suffering may be: I do feveriantly wish that they will never understand my actions in the days to come, my fear.

I rest my back against the wall behind me, -yet another scandalous action in company,- and I wonder about the Land- Empire of Fire my father had once spoken of once before he had been drafted into the war he never returned from. I wonder if it was as he spoke it; lush, with greenery all around with pinkened trees and floating flowers. With an Empress based on freedom, rather then a Emperor focused on power. Where Omega such as myself can walk about without an escort to hold their hands, where I could choose mine own husband. Where I could even -plausibly,- fight my own battles and not worry avidly about a mugging resulting in rape; in the upheavel of my entire life as my virginity is taken, where it is not regarded as a crime. I cannot know if the stories my father told me are true, he died well into my youth, and I had only been given to my the orphanage guardian under a forced oath she had made years previous; but I hope- I yen for it all to be a truth.

* * *

The position had been a comfort enough for me to have lost myself to my musings of freedom filled mornings, and joyful afternoons in the sun with flowers surrounding me.

Now it is high dusk and the room is filled with the melancholy hues of night, only one other sits within the room next to me, she is shivering in her worry. I shift slightly to ease the pains in my back and shoulders, I carefully stretch at my toes and they painfully pop as I do so, she looks to me when I grunt in response.

She is pale, frail, and her eyes are toned brown and plain, she is small and appears to me as a child having lost her most favourite toy. I know that is not the truth however, in looking about us, I notice the time is clear and her weeping into her blue homongi is for a good reason. My chest constricts at the sight of her, still I manage to rest my hand on her shoulder in the best comfort I can give, I smile as best I can in fear for her, and she weeps harder.

It is made only worse because I know her; she is the daughter of a merchant I rarely see, her presentation had happened by accident after an assault and I had found her nude and vomiting into the bushes near, she had been bleeding badly and the liquid had flowed from her thighs to the ground whence I had set her upright. When I had brought her to her father, he had been furious she had allowed the assault, that she had lost her purity. But had humbled somewhat once he understood that he could still present her as a youthful Omega in her prime at the 'Coming Of Age' ceremony regardless of her lost virginity. He had not a care for the fact that she had been raped, only her worth to his family. Coincidentally, my fist had met his abdomen that very day.

Now here she sits, trembling and I have to assume she has received a proposal, or her father has and told her. I do wish to tell her she can accompany me in my fitful escape, but it would be merely a soothing lie. A risk unto both of us, and already my plan was a poor one, it would be a condemnation for her and a death unto me should I attempt to bring her. I lean my head unto her flaccid brown hair, and hold her as close as I might. For I understand her fear, her apprehension, her future spouse is unlikely to be kind unto her because she is young; in fact, it is more then likely why they choose her.

My teeth grit, a nasty habit I've learnt from my guardian when she is angered, an attempt at restraint, and though it works well, it is unseemly as it both damages the teeth and -apparently- harms the mind. There is little I can do for the child in my arms, except reassure her that nothing could possibly be as bad as she imagines: which is yet another lie. I plaster upon myself the best face of comprehension I can fathom, all the bravery I can muster so that she is not made more concerned by mine own worry for her. It faulters when she speaks of whom had picked her, my chest stutters my breathes, and I fight the oncoming tears as understanding repeats the Alpha's name several times within me; I grip her tighter the I oaught, and I hope my sorrow doesn't show plainly upon me as it stings in my gut. I can only hope I am wrong, and if I am not: I can tell myself while bathed in bloodied lies that she will be given an easy death.

* * *

I do manage to creep into the grounds of the Omega home, though the pads of my feet are slightly crusted with dried blood as I do so. I trip into my room after having very carefully forcing the -supposedly- locked door open. I stumble across the wooden plank my roommate has placed near the opening, she stares at me as I enter, and though it is near mid-night I can feel accusatory eyes resting upon me as I attempt to walk to my futon on my heels. I hear her shift away from my vague shadow to face the moonlight the paper door allows inside the room, a distinct grumble comes from her as she does so. "You are very lucky I managed to convince Onoji-san that you were still at the ceremony tonight and not at one of the houses begging for payment. I am not doing it again, so you better make your grand escape within the next day or rather, tonight." Came the whisper I had somewhat come to expect; though I certainly did not think the bitter girl across the room would cover for me in any fashion. I am lucky that she did: for despite the fact that I am going to be a run away, I would rather the other underage Omega's of the orphanage don't think of me as a tramp.

The russell of her merger blanket lets me know that she has no wish to speak to me, and of her disposition on my choice. I heave a sigh in response.

I know her well, well enough to know that she would not comprehend my reasoning for running if I were to explain them perfectly accurate three times to her face: Najira-san had been born into a traditionalist family who had ingrained into her the old beliefs for Omega so firmly that she would go against them just to fight someone who held a different ideal then she. It did me no favours that her family was one of those to have been killed by my mother during her in-ane rampage: The fact that I am the son of her parent's murderer merely serviced to solidify her detest for me, though I imagine the prominent fact that she is two years older then me and has yet to come of age, does not aid me in gaining her friendship.

I tumble a bit as my leg clashes with a large bundle of cloth I had not expected to be near my bedside. Nearby, Najira sters ever so slightly, "I went through the trouble to bag a few things necessary for your foolish journey. Don't mistake me, I still hate you Naruto and your wretched mother, but as you aren't her, you don't deserve to die to the cold of night or of looming starvation." I clamp my lips shut at her insult, it is plain what she considers of me, yet she had made an attempt to give me a chance to leave, far better then the supplies I had planned to steal from the kitchens at early dawn, I keep silent as my gratitude.

Near, there is a loosened floorboard that I'd prepared yesterday, and I quickly grab the tendo I had stollen from the market today -I'd tucked it as carefully as I might into my obi- and taking a breath, begin slashing at my long hair, sweeping most of it into the hole in the flooring. I know for fact, that my hair sticks high and frazzled when short, so it is possible for me to be mistaken as an Alpha on a journey while I casually walk through the gates, hopefully while in the daylight and on the streets it will still appear so. I pick up the bundle, the bag -finding it to have an actual rope attached to it, while I changed into the plain clothes I had stolen a week priour. I know I likely look panicked, but Najira-san speaks once more with a mocking lisp to her voice.

"Do not get killed in too horrible a way, I'd hate to laugh so hard." Demeaning and maliceful, as her words ever are, they manage to calm me slightly in familiarity, and my shoulders loosen from tension. As I make my way out through the doors of the garden, stepping over my ex-roommate as I do so, I avoid stepping on her purposefully outstretched arm, which I can only imagine she intended for me to tread upon.

The thin cloak I have hardly protects me from the elements, yet it is another layer to shelter me from the cold as well as a decent disguise. I wear flats now, but the damage has been done and after all my years of wearing too small shoes my toes complain regardless of their freedom. I think my feet still bleed and I know they have dried blood upon them, but I hope that won't be easily noticed in the dark. I wear a kinagashi underneath, which to mine own discomfort was likely made for spring rather then late autumn, it is comfortable I have to note, less tightened at the waist and easier to breath through, though whenever I feel the wind brushing against my legs it makes me shiver in discomfort. Luckily, in walking late hours the streets are clear of people, apart from stragglers, drunks, or beggars in the corners hoping for warmth.

The guard post ahead is intimidating, put mildly. Should I fail to sell myself as an Alpha then I will be delivered to the leader of the town and I will likely be killed for my attempt- or rather, for my impersonation of an Alpha. Though the lanterns warming light is a balm unto my emotions, they also serve to make me sway away from them in fear of discovery. Yet, two are ahead of me now, along with two guardsmen who sit rather idle as watchers of the entrance, likely poor soldiers from the empires military whom were decommissioned due to misjudgement or horrid ability. I've seen them lurk about many times in youth and in present, they have never changed and though I had been a curious child I had never sought to speak to them. I breath in through my nose to the slightly cold air, and shutter at the crisp chill it brings through me. The town is certainly as a prison, guarded and monitored -though, I believe that the entirety of the Hidden Mist is much the same, I know it to be my own concern for failure, but it seems unto me that each step forward has a cut on my feet freshly bleeding.

They look at me then: I pull the hood of my cloak away so they may see the short cut of my hair and hope that the brutal -recognizable- scars of my mother's insanity do not show on my cheeks within the moon's shadows. I have practiced speaking deeper in case it is needed, though I have much doubt my attempt at an Alpha voice will fool two -assumed- veterans. Both of them look to each other as if in verification, then one waves his hand haphazardly about. "Go ahead- just know that there are bandits on the roads these days." I blink a little, I hadn't expected it to be simple, but I pass by them regardless, I am not going to unravel the luck I've gained to see the threads. I give a slight nod at their answer because it is something I have seen several Alpha's do around each other, so I suppose it must be a common form of gratitude.

* * *

The winds bellow far harsher away from buildings or trees it seems, as it whips as piece of bamboo over my uncovered ankles, and pierces into my already bloodied feet tossing the slightest pebbles from the ground into my sandals so that the rocks dig deep into my cuts. My hands, I know, are shivering too much that I cannot grasp at my hood well enough to keep it from falling away, while underneath my nails are purple. Dawn has sprung on the horizon opposite, which is my fortune as I can see the closest town where I may find shelter, if not food.

Even at the entrance it is clear that the town around me is far well fed then my own, there is a cobblestone main street and a marketplace flowing with people -nearly all- dawned in rain protection, the shops are tightly fitted against each other, and business seems to be easy even in the waking hours. It appears to be a shopping hour and I do wonder if I could stop into one of the tea shops briefly for a bit of warmth without being noticed as an outcast. The largest problem of course being that I have no money to buy a cup with and little time to buy into good favour with the townsfolk.

I stop my thoughts from being irrational as best I can and continue to force my aching feet forward, cuddling my arms around my chest. Lucky, that the breeze doesn't blow too cold around tightly packed buildings. I cannot imagine how I must appear, probably as what I am, a runaway, an outcast, a thief huddled in my stollen his clothing, one whom fears punishment and retribution. Yet, no one glaces at me in reproach, no one even spares me a look it seems; strange, for while I am used to malice and distrust, hatred and even caution, but never before have I been met with indifference or ignorance from anyone. I cannot risk to show it, to acknowledge it in whimsy but it does seem as if no one in this rich little town knows who I am, and that though a wistful thought, it warms me a little inside. I can merely pass by without an explanation for my visit as it seems, I am near the border as it stands, I have perhaps one other town of crossing to delve into before I can consider myself in freedom from the bane of mine own homeland.

Though it is the fantasy of my childhood stories, I must remember; I cannot trick myself into absolution that a place of full personal liberty exists, I can however, dream that a place better then the Land of Mist does; for surely it must, and I can conceptualize that the Land of Fire is indeed better then the sordid wet trodden lands of the 'Bloody Mist'. Escape! Even if it is into continual labour, even if I must remake my being and relearn all that I know to be a marketer or farm-person, I will, for all hardship possible there cannot compare to that which awaits me within my homeland.

I have to begin considering some form of energy for the rest of my journey, and though I am not particularly fond of their taste personally, a decent sized rat would be sufficient to power my legs for the remainder of the morn and possibly after noon. Unfortunately, they seem to be made of merely skin in this high quality town. Far from their scurrying fat bodies that monovered throughout my hometown, and though I can still see many running at the alleyways; oddly, none of the people about me seem to spare them a glance. I do not think they are well noticed. It is strange to see them being ignored truthfully as my mind cannot distinctively classify them for what they are, food. An evenings meal usually, however I will need more energy to walk about all day then to clean, so it sounds preferable to having a short meal of stale rice, I do so hate catching the fast things though as usually I will have to do so with bare feet and sore hands. With their lacking bellies I do believe they will be faster, so I will have to catch at least two to be secure for my travels.

At least I can tuck their frail bodies into my bag without too much issue of weight.

* * *

It is as I stuff the second into my bag that I hear a calamity; shouts, yells, crying, I recognize them all. Danger guides my feet as I shuffle into the crowd to see the high-horses of the imperial army, not trodding along through the town back to the main road, but instead upstanding and a waiting for one of their own -as one of the horses has little supplies and a vacant saddle. I hear a grunt, mumbled by the many voices surrounding, but I know enough to understand an uncouth situation mounting. I peer over the shoulder of the man in front of me, to see a pale faced-man with darkened hair and many wrinkles slouched to the ground, there are visible scars along his nary unclothed body, muscles upon his arms and legs pomident -a veteran? He was not fallen from the horse waiting in line, in fact, the redded, bleeding sores intermingled with mud on his back indicate unto me that he had been dragged into the town. A proud man stands above him with plated armour, his helm covers his face, but I can easily envision the scowl he holds as his hand reaches and wrenches the poor hurting man to his knees by the slight clothing still clinging to him, I can feel a scowl form onto mine own visage at the simple -cruel- sight.

"This!" Speaks the cruel warrior, looking about him at the town people gathered in their shivering, scared, groupings. "Is a son of this town, a traitor!" It is for but a moment that I see the man slouched over struggle in the grasp he is gripped within, his hands seeking a grip on the armoured arm of the man holding him, a grimace on his face, tears down his cheeks, his knees quiver beneath him -and I notice they are bloodied too. He is yanked upwards then, without care. Blood sprays after the fast motion, at the ruthlessly swift act, as the solider takes his weapon and brings it through the prisoners neck. The red seeping out of the decapitation is familiar as I have seen several times before from animals and rats alike. The flesh, still slightly pulsating inside what remains of his neck next to hardened bone is even somewhat recognizable to the meat I have butchered so I may eat. Yet, the head rolling from momentum, slowing on the uneven cobblestone, the tear tracks still on the paralized face, the widened -terrified irises looking nowhere has no synomly within my mind. I find myself cowering behind the people surrounding me as they shout in outrage, I find myself angry and vomiting on the pathway all at once. I hear a scream, a desperate wretched one which could only be made at full volume, and I look up vaguely to see an Omega woman running from the far side where I'd come in, frantic and sobbing.

"My son! My son!" She cries, loudly cradling not the body but the head, she is in raggs and dirt covered, she is elderly and her entire body quakes with her as she rocks-back-and-forth. "-He was no traitor, never! You people just want blood! You just want blood!" She repeats it, many times mumbling after her shout. I watch her, and my stomach turns in fear as the town hurls insults at the -now- mounting army.

One particular voice uprises against the rest, with weak grammar, but hardened wisdom in the gravel of his tone: "You lot don't evin give a damn bout us southern folk do ya? Go a-head, protect yur mighty capital! Flaunt yur dazzlin cities! But don' be cryin when the Fire Land wins this battle an' ya' lose al' yur damned food!" A bottle is thrown from near me, and soon rocks join in, hitting at the expensive armour they wear just for show and ruining their attractive glimmer. Its odd, that I so hate this place and all it upholds and yet, I can still muster the will to grab a loosened rock near me and hit it directly upon the perpetrator's head.

The soldiers ride out, as they were supposed to.


End file.
